


The Life and Times Of Professor M. Shirokov

by theprettymozart



Category: Classicaloid (Anime)
Genre: I will add more characters as I go, Smoking, i just really love my friend's ocs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-07-29 05:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16257323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprettymozart/pseuds/theprettymozart
Summary: Russian. Tired. Teaching.





	1. Take a Break

“Today we move into the beginnings of Russian modernism” 

Mitya clicked through her Google Drive folder looking for the correct presentation to project onto the board. She winced a bit remembering that she had to talk about her historical life today. 

“For those of you with enough foresight to do the assigned reading please name a few composers we will be addressing today.“ “Scriabin” “Prokofiev” “Stravinsky” “Shostakovich” 

She begins, conservatory, gain of favor, loss of favor, regain of favor, Leningrad. It was still painful. She had never really asked to be brought back, nevermind the fact that she was a woman now, but she now has a second chance so damn it, she was going to take it. Meeting other “beings” like her was the craziest part of it all. From Mozart to Mahler composers from every era were back from the dead and could harness the power of musik.

And there she was, the professor in the college classroom. Thankfully nobody had made the surprisingly common remark about wanting to bang her younger self and she declared that was a small victory in itself.

But perhaps the biggest victory was reuniting with Benjamin Britten one of her close friends from before. He stood in front of her desk in her office with his hand to his forehead, “Dimitri you need to leave this dusty ass building once in a while.”

Mitya didn’t look up, “Not gonna happen unless you want to grade the rest of these”

Benjamin browsed the bookshelf along the wall, “Liszt invited us out for drinks.” He plucked out a biography about himself and flipped through it, “Mahler will be there,” 

Mitya’s pen stopped writing. “Oh?”

“I suppose I could use a vodka.”


	2. Glasses Is A Crappy Nickname

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rach and Shosty, frenemies extraordinaire.

Drinking with the others was always a wild time.

More often than not it was always one of Liszt’s piano bars and those among the group who were piano trained took turns at the keys.

Mitya looked around, she had lost Benjamin somewhere by the bar but she was happy in her seat at the base of the stage. A seat scraped on the floor next to her and the offering of a bottle of vodka told enough of who it was. _“Thank you, Sergei” “Any time Glasses”_

_“Have you played yet?” “No, I haven't had enough to drink.”_

_“Come on Glasses lets play.” “Ugh, fine, but you are buying me a drink.”_

Rach offered Mitya a hand up to the stage and they took a seat on the bench together.

_“We need something to play Sergei.”_ Rach stared intently at the blank ledge where sheet music would usually go,

_“Tchaikovsky, we both like Tchaikovsky.”_

Mitya nodded in agreement, _“Allow me to indulge you.”_

She plucked out the first few chords of The Sleeping Beauty" Waltz. Rach grinned, recognizing his own arrangement of it. The two laughed the whole time. It was their kind of fun. They left the stage to a round of applause and a few whistles from their other Russian friends.

Benjamin made his way to Mitya’s table as she sat down. He took a sip of his beer, _“I haven't seen you perform in a while, Dimitri. You looked happy.”_ She adjusted her glasses, _“Yes, I suppose I was happy.” “I’ve never seen you do anything with Rach before, I thought you hated him.”_   Rach returned from the bar and placed a vodka and soda on the table in between them,

_“We are friends when we drink.”_


	3. It's Can Can Not Can't Can't

_“I have something for you Jacques”_

_“Hm?”_ Offenbach took a puff of his cigarette, raising an eyebrow at Mitya who was joining him on the mansion’s back porch. She pulled a cigarette out of her pack and Offenbach lit it for her.

_“Well, professor? What’s my present?”_

Mitya reached into her purse to present him with a score tied with some twine. Upon closer inspection entitled Can Can

“ _Why are you handing me this? This is mine,”_ he plucked his monocle off the bridge of his nose and squinted at the score.

_“Wait this isn’t mine. Glasses, what are you trying to do here?"_

Mitya laughed, recognizing the nickname Rach had given her, _"I know it's not yours, it's mine."_ She exhaled a cloud of smoke, _"It's an homage to you if you will. It was my first ballet, so nobody really likes to perform it. The Bolshoi puts it in their season like once every ten years."_

Offenbach stared at the score and then back at her, smugness pulling at his smile _"Seriously?"_ He brought his cigarette back to his lips, _"It sounds like you were really pulling at straws on that one Mitya."_

Mitya rolled her eyes, _"Oh give me a break that section was why it was censored"_ Now he really laughed, _"From what I can gather from my sources, almost everything you wrote was censored"_

_"Just shut up and take the music, _Jacques."__

He smiled, _ _"Thank you Mitya."__

 


	4. Cестра

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cестра is sister.

The second Saturday of every month was when the Russian classicaloids all got coffee at Cafe Aria. Nannerl would always be busy whipping up strong black coffee to sustain an entire town behind the bar.

Mitya sat outside, saving her place at the two cafe tables that they pushed together. She sipped her Americano, it was perfect. She would have to tip Nan later. The bell over the door jingled pleasantly and Rach stepped outside, large coffee mug in hand, he sat down across from her, removing his heavy jacket and tossing it onto the empty chair beside him.

_“So Glasses, what's new with you?”_

_“I haven't gotten a call from_ home _in a while, I’m starting to worry a bit If I’m being honest.”_

Rach raised his eyebrows, _“Home? What do you mean home? Like-”_

 

He was cut off by Mitya’s phone buzzing and loudly blaring music. She eyed her phone wearily and reached to answer it. Rach caught a glimpse of a caller ID reading “SMALL CHILD WITH A KNIFE”.

Mitya put the phone to her ear, _“Didn’t I teach you that it is rude to eavesdrop.”_ she looked around and spotted a CCTV camera on a nearby building, she flipped it off.

A chipper, heavily accented voice emitted from the phone, _“Cестра, its good to hear you are well! Mitya rolled her eyes, “Quit it with the ‘sister’ shit Kofi, I’m not your sister!”_

The voice on the phone _“Mitri put me on speaker, I want to talk to the hunk you are on a date with.”_ Mitya blushed, _“Oh we aren’t on a date. But I’m sure he would like to say hello.”_

Rach choked on his coffee, due to the fact that he was only able to hear half the conversation, and that was taken very out of context. There was no way in hell that they were on a date.

 

Mitya placed the phone on the table and pressed the speaker button. _“Kofi, you are on speaker, introduce yourself.”_

_“My name is Sergei Prokofiev pleasure to make your acquaintance.” "Hello. It’s Sergei Rachmaninoff speaking.”_ the voice on the other side on the phone yelled away from the receiver _“Chati come here Cестра is on a date with Rachmaninoff”_ T he voice on the other side on the phone yelled away from the receiver “Chati come here Cестра is on a date with Rachmaninoff” 

A young woman spoke now, _“Cестра! Hello! And hello there sir!, I’m Ara. Have a good time on your date. Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.”_

__

Mitya groaned, _ “We aren't on a date! Besides he has a boyfriend already.” _ She mouthed an apology to Rach who was desperately looking for a reason to leave the table.

_ “Well,  _ Cестра _ I have to go dismantle the government of a small country. Come to visit us soon. We miss you.” _

And then he hung up.

_"I am so sorry about that. Kofi is the biggest asshole I know"_

_"More than yourself glasses?"_

 


	5. Mstislav

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship never truly concludes.

Stuffy dust-filled light hung heavy in Mitya’s office one Thursday afternoon. Emails needed to written as well as replied to, she had neglected her students’ essays to get drinks with Britten so those had to be finished too. 

She stood up and crossed the room to her coffee pot, lovingly placed on the second shelf of her bookcase and poured the remainder into her large red mug.

The moment she sat back down and promptly heard a sharp rap on her door, heaving a sigh, she stood back up and walked to open the door, expecting one of her students she begrudgingly explained, _“Office hours are on Tuesdays, please come then.”_

She instead saw a man around her age with grey hair and round glasses similar to her own. _“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were a student. Would you like to come in?”_ The man ran a hand through the front of his hair, _“Yes, very much, thank you.”_   

She cleared a few books off of the chair opposite her own and motioned for him to sit. She crossed behind her desk to sit in her own chair. She took a sip of her coffee, _“What can I help you with sir?”_

The man clasped his hands in his lap, _“My name is Mstislav.”_ Mitya’s eyes widened a bit, she once knew a man named Mstislav.

He thoughtfully chose his next words, “ _I'm looking for someone I knew, uh know. I moved to a new building and one of the tenants said that you could help.”_

Mitya tilted her head, _"Oh? What's the name of the person? I'm quite good with computers."_

_"His name is Dimitri Shostakovich,"_ Mstislav said.

Mitya felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She was determined not to let him see her cry for a third time in his now extended life.

_"Well Sala, It looks like you stumbled into the right office today. Despite it all, I'm right here,"_   her voice wavered a bit as she spoke.

_"Dimitri? You are now a-?" "Yeah I'm aware,"_ She gestured at her appearance in general. 

_ "It is just like you to do this, ugh, choosing a new name, hiding in a music department. Inconspicuous, unassuming, this is just like you. I am so stupid!"  _ he threw his hands wildly about emphasizing his words. _"Come here and give me a hug you oaf."_

Mitya rushed to him and gave him a hug, it was a good hug, they missed each other and didn't even realize how much they did until that moment. 

He softly spoke, _"Right before I conducted Leningrad, Dimitri. It was right before. You should have waited to die."_ she whispered back, _"I'm sorry, it couldn't be helped."_

They stayed like that for another minute, giddy, but unspeakably sad. 

_ "Galina will want to see you." _

 


	6. General Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nica takes a nap, Nannerl is cold, and Mitya has tall friends.

A small group of people huddled in the backyard of Otowa mansion, alien ships loomed menacingly overhead. A dark red car skidded to a halt in the street and Mitya stepped out of the driver's side door. She covered her eyes with her hand and squinted up at them, they didn't look promising. Mitya took off running to, her work heels clacking loudly against the garden pavement. Mitya came to a halt in front of the group, slightly out of breath she gasped, _“I’m sorry, I got here as fast as I could!”_

 

The first thing she noticed was Nica on the ground, seemingly asleep with her head resting on Rach’s leg, her arms still moving as if she was conducting an invisible orchestra. Rach explained, _“She's keeping them from not destroying anything right now, which is taking an obvious toll.”_ Squatting next to them, her ruffled musik dress poofed in a circle around her, Nannerl thoughtfully readjusted Nica’s askew glasses and began to explain, _“We needed a distraction-” “-And I figured you could be a great one”_ Rach finished.

 

_“You are telling me, that you called me here to be alien bait?”_ Mitya questioned.

_“No of course not!”_ Nannerl answered.

_“Wrong, that is exactly why you are here!”_ Rach clarified.

 

_Mitya threw her hands up, “Fine, I can distract them for you to wake Nica up! But let me make one thing clear, this will be incredibly confusing for some of you. Those of you who don't know Russian, stick with someone who does. People who get cold easily, stay inside with the Octave and don't help. This is not fun, nor safe."_ She looked back down at Rach on the ground, _"when you are done doing whatever, go to the conservatory and ask for me. Chances are you will need to go to the roof. This will make more sense later.”_

 

She walked a little farther away from the group, she took a deep breath and stared at the sky, _“Большинство моих симфоний - похороны.”_ in a blinding flash of red light Mitya reappeared in her musik garb, military dress uniform meeting concert coat and tails. She grabbed a gold-hilted sword out of the air above her head and placed it in the sheath on her belt. Back in the group, Slava wolf whistled and shouted to his friend, _“You look good! Just don't hit us with the sword”_ Mitya muttered under her breath, _“Oh shut up. I’m a pianist, I prefer to use my hands.”_

 

And then the sky went red.

 

The wind rushed past their ears as the small group found themselves in a snowy street. The alien ships still above but obscured by grey clouds tinged burgundy. Drums and woodwinds sounded but even from a quick look around there was no source to be found. Nor was Mitya. Mstislav’s jaw dropped,

 

_“Oh shit, She took us to Leningrad.”_

 

Everyone but the Russians looked confused, _“Oh this is still St. Petersburg to you all isn’t it.”_

 

Rach gently picked Nica up out of the snow and carried her bridal style and deposited her onto a mostly snow-free bench and gently shook her to wake up. Nan squatted to Nica’s face level, _“Rise and shine sleepy head, you can stop conducting, Mitya’s taking a crack at it for a while”_ Nica’s eyes fluttered open, _“Oh my gosh, how long was I out?”_ Rach checked his watch, _“Like two hours.”_ Nica yawned.

 

Nannerl shivered, _“We need a plan, and I need a coat. Mitya said to go to the conservatory, anybody_ have _any idea where that is?”_ Nannerl looked expectantly at Rach and Mstislav. Mstislav shrugged, _“Sorry Nan, it’s been a hot second since we have been here.”_

 

_“Fine! I will just ask someone.”_

She approached a well-dressed man on the street.

_“Excuse me, where could I find the music conservatory?”_

The man looked confused.

 

Mstislav appeared at her side and cut into the conversation, speaking to the man in perfect Russian. They spoke for a good three minutes before he turned to Nannerl to translate, _“We are pretty close by, just a few blocks, I think.”_

As the small group trampled through the streets, the wind howled and the sky grew thick with white snow clouds. They reached the door, and Rach held it open for the group, the metal handle was as cold as ice. Mstislav held a hushed conversation with a young woman at the front desk. Nannerl and Nica marveled at the conservatory’s grand staircases. Rach looked around and slipped his hands in his back pockets he said to nobody in particular, _“Moscow’s is still better.”_ Mstislav returned to the group, _“It’s just like she said, we have to go to the roof.”_

When they emerged on the roof it couldn’t be described as anything less than a blizzard. Nannerl yelled over the wind, _“Mitya! Are you there?”_ A figure melted out of the whiteness. A man in a tan coat, with familiar black hair and round glasses. He eyed the brightly colored group warily. Nannerl yelled again, trying to annunciate clearly, _“Its time to go home Mitya!”_ Rach placed his hand on Nannerl’s shoulder, _“I am pretty sure he can’t understand you, will you let me take one for the team?”_

Rach stepped towards him, his mother tongue feeling strange after not using it recently.

_“We have to go home, Dimitri. You have work tomorrow and Sosuke has a piano lesson.”_ he gestured back to the group, _“Nica is awake. Nannerl is freezing her butt off. Mstislav looks like he is reliving some dream, and I just want to see my boyfriend.”_ The other man’s eyes widened, a spark of recognition had taken hold.

_“You have to feed Schnoz.”_

The man’s form shifted, instead, leaving Mitya, eyes wide, hands covering her mouth, _“Oh my goodness! Schnoz! I need to feed my cat!”_ After her moment of shock was over she turned back to Rach, _“Thank you old man.”_

_“Of course old man.”_

And in a flurry of snow, they were back in the backyard of the Otowa mansion, Mitya looked at the ships still in the sky _“It is said by the West that Russians have two generals, General Mud and General Winter, I think those beings need a kick in the ass by the latter.”_ with a wave of her hands the snow littered around them formed an ice giant in Soviet military uniform. The giant easily plucked a ship from the sky and crushed it within its massive hands. Seeing the danger the others ships fled as to not be next.

Upon General Winter’s victory, Mitya pulled her sword from its sheath and triumphantly yelled, _“конец!“_ and just like that, the snow was gone, General WInter had gone, and Mitya had returned to her normal clothes. She took off her heels and plopped down on the grass.

 

**_“I deserve a drink after that.”_ **


	7. A440

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitya opened her front door to see Gustav Mahler with a toolbox full of piano supplies on her front porch. She let out a surprised, “дерьмо!” And promptly shut the door in his face.

It was 9 AM on Saturday morning and Mitya was in her pajamas, hair unkempt, reading a book that Fanny had recommended to her.

 

It was 9 AM, and Schnoz was curled up next to her on the bed, asleep.

 

It was 9 AM and a sharp ring of her doorbell startled her out of her peaceful trance.

 

It was also 9 AM when Mitya opened her front door to see Gustav Mahler with a toolbox full of piano supplies on her front porch. She let out a surprised, _“_ _дерьмо!”_ And promptly shut the door in his face.

 

Mitya reopened the door a crack, _“Sorry about that, give me like five minutes to look presentable. I forgot this was this morning.”_ _“Not to worry, take your time,”_ came his gruff reply. _“Thank you.”_

 

She ran as fast as her legs could muster to her closet grabbed the nearest trousers (grey ones she wore three days ago), shirt (white button-down, just back from the dry cleaners), and for added faux togetherness a sweater (creme with burgundy elbow patches, did not match the top or pants). She raked a brush through her hair and put on red lipstick, it was her personal opinion that nothing can look bad when you have red lipstick on. She peeled back down the stairs to her front door.

Mahler looked glanced to her, a mess of cremes, whites, and red, she was charming, in a very disheveled and academic kind of way. He followed her inside, and she led him into what she called her ‘library’. In all reality, it was supposed to be a dining room but being a single music professor with a cat means that she mostly just ate in the kitchen with little to no visitors. But also the room conveniently was the right size for a grand piano and some bookcases.

 

 _“Here we are!”_ She gestured to her piano, a Steinway with a few claw marks from schnoz on the legs, _“She's a bit old but still going strong.”_ He began to examine the in question piano. _“Can you play a scale for me?” "Certainly, any requests? No? Okay.”_ Mitya sat down at the bench as if it was her throne and worked her way easily up through the major scales and back.  Mahler cleared his throat, _“Have there been any issues with humidity in the house recently?”_ Mitya had stood back up and retreated to the velvet couch facing the piano, _“Nope she just needs a bi-yearly tuning.”_ Schnoz jumped up on Mitya’s lap and meowed in her face, eager for attention

The cat wailed a few more times before her owner scratched her head. Gustav didn't look from his work on the piano for a while before he asked, _“What is the cat’s name?”_ Mitya looked up from the art book she had pulled from one of the shelves to read, _“Her name is Schnoz.”_ He chuckled, _“Odd name for a cat. Any particular reason?”_ She closed her book and faced him on the couch, _“I wrote an opera called The Nose, and Schnoz is western slang for_ nose _. So, therefore, my cat is named for my opera.”_

Gustav genuinely laughed, and it was a beautiful sound to hear.

 

Mitya stood up and stretched, _“I’m going to go make some coffee, would you like a cup?”_ He now looked up from the piano at her, _“Yes, I would really appreciate that. Just milk, no sugar, please.”_

It wasn't until its occupant had left the room before he truly appreciated it's design. The dark piano matched the dark bookshelves, the shelves themselves full of books on a multitude of topics in Russian, English, and Japanese. The walls were a dark red, he sensed a common theme of it in her life, behind the piano was a large window, its light being diffused by a pair of breezy white curtains pulled over it. On either side of the window, he noticed framed magazines from a publisher named Time. They featured men named Prokofiev, Stravinsky, Britten, and one with his host’s own surname, Shostakovich. It depicted a man with the same round glasses and a silly looking helmet.

 

He returned to work.

 

Mitya returned with two mugs after a few minutes, she handed him a black mug with a treble clef on it. Her own read ‘World’s Best Professor’. She returned to her spot on the sofa and patted the space next to her, _“Come sit, you deserve a break.”_ He sat and took a sip of coffee. It was prepared excellently. Mitya wrapped her hands around her own mug, taking in its warmth, _“I really appreciate this Gustav, tuners are so expensive these days, and my salary can only pay for so much upkeep.”_ _“It is my pleasure Mitya, I can only clean the mansion so many times before I need a change of scenery, and I happened to be good at this nowadays.”_ He stood and walked to the magazine cover of the man in the glasses and helmet, _“speaking of nowadays, and I hope you don't mind me asking, but is this you?”_

Mitya looked at the cover he inquired about, _“Yes. That is me. Well the old me, not me, me.”_ Gustav nodded, _“I see,”_ he returned to his spot on the couch next to her. He took another sip of his coffee. _“I have heard that people compare your work to mine a lot. Is there any fact to this?”_ Mitya held his gaze with a sly grin, _“A few of my students are in a performance tonight of my fourth symphony, would you like to come and find out for yourself?”_

_“Are you asking me on a date?”_ he asked.

_“It certainly seems like it,”_ she replied.

_“Pick me up at 7:00.”_

  


 

  
  
  



	8. A Brief Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of closure? Also me setting precedent for the Valentine's Day stuff.

 

And so she did pick him up at 7:00. And they did go to the symphony.

He joked that he would sue her for intellectual property theft. She laughed and said that wasn't even the worst review of the symphony she had gotten.

He met some of her students who eyes shined to see their quiet and odd professor on a date with another live person. One of them, a cellist named Cynthia chuckled upon learning that his name was Gustav and commented that Gustav Mahler had a large influence in the third movement and throughout the piece as well.

**_Because what a coincidence that was._ **

She brought him back to the mansion, and he thanked her for a nice evening. They sat in the car, eyes lingering each other for a few moments longer than what should have been socially acceptable.

 _“_ _доброй ночи, Gustav”_

 

_“I dont speak Russian, what did you say?”_

 

_“Have a good night, Gustav.”_

 

_“You too Mitya”._


End file.
